


There Is No God.

by gaymusicians (benjaminschiffplatt)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Diary/Journal, M/M, Mental Illness, Panic Attacks, epilouge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjaminschiffplatt/pseuds/gaymusicians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of journal entries chronicling the mental illness of Dr. Newton Geiszler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is No God.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually really bad- I wrote it years ago right after the movie's release, so it's very short and very rough around the edges.

I'm worried about him. He spends more time than ever locked in his room, thinking, mulling over the tumultuous past in an echo of his mind. He hasn't been right, not since the drift...  
Mako and Raleigh came by yesterday. They asked how he was. I'm thankful that it was after the pilots left that he threw another frantic fit. They aren't his fault, I know, but when hrs writhing on the floor, screaming in imaginary pain, I can't help but to pray for his health, for help in my pursuit of his mind.  
-H.G.

His grip on reality is fading. He's been imagining things, front-line soldiers in the kitchen, a Fox staring at him in the dark despite the sun in high noon above us.  
Marshall suspects. We haven't let him know the extent of Geizler's pain, but it's difficult to hide the sharp screams of agony that echo through the Shatterdome in the dead of night.  
I'm praying again tonight.  
-H.G.

He won't talk to anyone anymore, save for me. I'm the only being he will permit to touch him, to calm him; and dear Lord does it take a lot to calm him.  
On Thursday, he felt well enough to walk on his own to the cafeteria. I was only a minute behind him, but I should have known better. When I arrived in the cafeteria, he had already fallen to his knees in a panic, and despite the snickers of the ignorant around him, he curled into a ball on the dirty tile floor and began to tremble in tears. He was convinced I was dead, he told me.  
I had to hold him, to whisper in his ear, to tell him I was there, I was safe. No one spoke for many minutes. The only sound in the large room were the panicked whispers I sent to the man who would never be looked at the same.  
I'm beginning to believe my prayers aren't getting through quite right.  
-H.G.

Marshall Hansen is sending him away. He says Dr. Geizler is not only a safety issue, but unnecessary to the force due to the kaiju deaths. I can't say I disagree.  
He has nowhere to go now. The Dome has been his home for many years now. He needs someone to take care of him as well. Someone to feed him, hold him, someone to care and pray for him.  
I plan to hand in my resignation tomorrow.  
-H.G.

We're in upstate Washington now, far from Hong Kong. He likes the rain, says it clears the static from his mind. I think my prayers are being answered, I truly believe he's getting better.  
I found us jobs, researching bacterium for a nearby university. The work seems to help him, focusing his mind. His fits are less frequent and he smiles more.  
It makes me hopeful.  
-H.G.

He's almost back to being Newt, the Newt I knew.  
He still cries at night, crawls into my bed like a child and clings to me. I don't mind as much as I should.  
Despite that, he's begun to speak more openly again, telling jokes every now and again.  
He says the voices, the kaiju ones, are faded and distant, he rarely hears them. He says he can hear me, though. He says my presence speaks volumes more than my words to him, due to our own neural drift. I thought he'd forgotten.  
He's healing, though. Truly healing, the way only patience and angels can heal. It's a miracle.  
-H.G.

He's gone.  
Newton, Dr. Geizler, dead. The man who aided in the saving of the world.  
It wasn't the illness. It wasn't the voices or the agony, no, it was a man on the street with a gun. A gun, shot through the greatest mind of this generation.  
He was healing! He was getting better, recovering! He was my life...  
I miss him. I miss the warmth of his personality. I miss his disorganization. I miss kaiju entrails strewn across our lab, I miss our lab. I miss his crooked tie, I miss everything about him.  
I wish I could have saved him.  
I wish I told him I loved him, well, love him; present tense...  
There is no God, I've decided.  
-H.G.

 

Dr. Gottlieb clenched his cane in his pale hand and looked around at the crowd dressed in black. The funeral had quite the turnout.  
'Newt would have liked that,' Hermann thought, a frown of melancholy etched on his face.  
The mahogany casket rested beautifully above the dug grave as though Hermann didn't know it was holding his best friend, as though the man lying inside it hadn't been beloved by many, by so many more than just who had shown up to the funeral.  
Hermann slowly made his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes scanning the melancholy faces of Newt's friends and family. As he locked eyes with a forlorn Mako Mori, the doctor realized that maybe, just maybe, he could face the world without Newton, but not without his friends, but Newt's memory wouldn't hurt, either.


End file.
